Luck of the Goddess
by Devil's Den
Summary: Percy and Annabeth thought they had seen it all. But then they found a half-Nemean-lion, half-demigod Brit in the forests of Maine. Who exactly is this this animalistic boy with the eyes of a veteran, the grace of a dancer, and the audacity to piss off a goddess?
1. Prologue: Noise

**_A/N: I won't explain any of the symbols, flashback signals, and thought indications or anything like some authors do. I feel as if it insults the readers' intelligence. But if it becomes too big a problem, I'll go back and add some guidelines._**

**But either way, I was ****_so _****proud of this particular fanfiction when I was writing it. I thought it was going to go ravingly well, that I was going to get a whole bunch of followers from it, and that I was going to the top of the FF hierarchy-**

**And then I read some of ****Control of Chaos'**** stories and started realizing how much my writing sucked again. So, yeah. Kudos to you, ****Control of Chaos****, if you ever read this, and thanks for the reality check. Your writing is amazing. I'm unworthy.**

* * *

**_Luck of the Goddess_**

**_Summary_****:** In which Alex learns the hard way that it's never a wise idea for him, a newly-revealed demigod, to piss off a goddess who had just saved his life. Or else it would spring a tedious mission- or rather, quest- the likes of which MI6 could never hope to achieve. If only he had held his tongue...

**Prologue: Noise**

Crunchy leaves under-foot.

Breath coming fast in rapid pants.

Eyes flaring wildly.

Snarls heard from behind.

A roar.

A pounce.

Lightning jolts of pain shooting through shoulder.

Bones splintering.

Blood spilling.

Scream pulling through throat.

White stings on the back of neck.

Teeth breaking skin.

Silence.

Blessed silence.

~x-X-x~

_"Get up."_

He groaned. Everywhere, it was numb.

Everywhere, it was cold and gone. He couldn't feel his arms, nor his legs. It was just his head. The only things he could feel were his own thoughts and emotions.

(_Older-than-his-years_) thoughts.

(_Broken-to-pieces_) emotions.

"Get up, boy," the voice called out again, silky smooth (he was so, _so_ sick of silky smooth). "That's an order."

A snap of fingers.

Suddenly, he could feel his limbs again. He could feel his body and his arms and his hands and his-

"Get up!" the voice prompted again, tone strung maybe a _bit_ higher from annoyance.

He was still wondering about the turmoil going on in his nerve endings. Controlled by the snap of a finger? How did that work? Maybe there was a machine hidden somewhere behind-

-there was nothing to hide it behind. Nothing.

That was the _first_ thing he noticed when he finally sat up and looked around. Where he was happened to be empty.

There was white everywhere.

White.

White.

White.

White. White.

White, white, white white.

_Whitewhitewhitewhite_.

It was driving him crazy.

The way the white reflected the light coming from who-knew-where, it blinded him.

He couldn't see.

He couldn't _see_.

It was freaking him out. Buzzing was vibrating throughout his body and white noise was over-taking his senses.

He took several deep breaths and calmed himself down.

If his sense of sight was useless, then so be it.

He had other tools at his disposal.

So he closed his eyes and used his ears.

He pounded one of his fists onto the wooden floor (white wood?) below. He listened to the reverberations.

The results didn't make _sense_.

The way the sound echoed back hollowly suggested there wasn't a floor, wasn't a wall behind him- although he could _feel_ it-, wasn't a ceiling above, or even any other blockade _anywhere_.

It was suggesting- plainly- that he was nowhere.

But that wasn't right.

"Where do you think you are, boy?"

He took the question into consideration as he continued to analyze the area.

Where he was... it was messing with him.

It was stripping him of his trust in his sight, hearing, touch... it was stripping him of his trust in _himself_.

It was-

"My own personal Hell," he whispered. "It's my own pit of fear."

"But you don't seem very afraid, boy," the silky voice purred. "You're taking it _very_ well."

He kept silent.

There was a pause before the voice decided to continue, "You're very brave and resourceful. You trust yourself to come up with a plan, and when you can't, you give up; you _know_ that if you couldn't find a good solution, there wasn't one in the first place. You rely on your acute senses, logic, luck, and creativity." It took a long breath. "So when those are pried away from you, you panic."

"Even then, you have abundant amounts of self-control and a sharp ability to hide your emotions. You can lie yourself out of every situation and keep the lie going for as long as it's needed. You carry a mask around with you everywhere you go."

He didn't understand why the voice was telling him this.

"And beyond that, you're swift and agile, strong. You are very much like a cat in many ways." The voice finished.

And suddenly, the white vanished, and he was back in the forest. Back in the forest where something- some _monster_- had gotten him.

And he was watching himself run from it.

Past-him was propelling himself with an inhuman grace, each bound carrying him a distance that only professional runners could match. His feet were placed just so, to get maximum momentum as he dashed- no, _pranced_; dashed didn't do the art he was seeing himself perform justice- and weaved skillfully between trees.

"Do you see the perfect way you run, the way you can gather all resources- any law of physics that could help you- and utilize it just to go _faster_?" The voice was cooing into his ear, pointing out everything he had already noticed. He never paid it any attention when _he_ was in the position. It was just an unconscious effort that he strived for when and because-

"-you're running for your _life_," the voice whispered before he could think it for himself.

The perspective changed, and for the first time, he could see the monster that had been chasing him. It was beautiful, in a horrid, morbid kind of way. Even with the way he was running, the monster was still catching up with its strong limbs stretching twice the span his feet could ever hope to achieve. It was down on four legs, huge and lanky, with golden fur lying matted against its flank.

It was a lion.

A _giant lion_.

Its bushy, lustrous mane was streaming behind as it bore down upon past-him and unsheathed its claws, digging them firmly into his shoulders before letting loose a mighty roar and sinking its massive fangs into past-him's neck.

It was a clean snap.

Present-him didn't even flinch.

"Why are you showing me this?" He was pretty sure the voice had been coming from somewhere beside him, so that was where we aimed his question. "Is this like an instant-replay of my death? Now are you going to show me my bad qualities and bring my soul to the Devil?"

A chilling laugh rang through his bones.

"You underestimate yourself. I don't quite believe you _belong_ in Hell," the voice replied. "I like you."

The forest disappeared.

Suddenly, he was standing in a dimly-lit room with pure-black walls.

How did that even work?

"My name is Nemesis," a slim figure stepped out of the shadows. "The Greek goddess of balance and revenge. What do I look like to you?"

He studied the woman in front of him.

"Unruly black hair, pale face chiseled with dark contours, red jacket, black leather pants, buckled boots-," he paused, "- black top and angry, narrowed red eyes."

The woman smiled- or rather, smirked, as negative of a word it was- as she murmured her next words.

"As I suspected. You see me as myself."

"Normally," Nemesis said, "you would see me as the person you most want revenge on."

He shrugged.

"But I see you've lost too much to want retribution on a single person that much more than others," she continued. "So you don't care. You go on as life goes and occasionally, if it's convenient, you'll pull justice on those who wronged you. But you see them all the same. That type of people- those who don't favor to have revenge on any single enemy- usually deserve to reap retribution more than any other."

"Why are you doing this?" he asked calmly. "If you're a goddess, why do you dabble with regular mortal lives?"

Nemesis raised an eye-brow, "You believe what I'm saying?"

"This isn't a hologram, or an illusion. I've been in both before, and they're definitely not like this. Not as... realistic," he reasoned simply. "You showed me a real scene from my life: the attack. As far as I know, nobody could pull off recording all of that, processing it, and setting up a trick like this without making a mistake. There hasn't been a single mistake yet, or else I'd have noticed it."

He wasn't bragging, just stating a fact.

Nemesis was staring at him dubiously.

"That's all, boy? I'm slightly disappointed."

He shook his head, "I was attacked and severely injured." He pulled up his shirt, and turned around so that his back was showing. "Where are the scars?"

Sure enough, there were other, terrible injuries recorded on his back, but not any to match his run-in with the lion. Burns, knife wounds, whip-marks, all criss-crossed on their own little pedestals, only half-concealed by last-minute skin grafts. The only thing missing was claw-marks.

"That's much better," Nemesis purred. "Go on."

He pulled his shirt back down.

"I know for a fact the attack was real. I'm immune to hallucinogenics," he went on. "Injuries like that always scar. So the fact that there aren't any marks recording that event shows that you, being an all-powerful entity, somehow pulled me out of the situation unscathed. Maybe my soul instead of my physical body?"

He scrunched up his face in momentary concentration.

"It's either you're telling the truth, or this is some trick of my own messed-up mind as it's dying. Either way, the best way to proceed would be to play along."

Nemesis nodded.

"See? Sense, logic, and creativity," she purred. "You were truly blessed. _Too_ much, in my opinion."

He raised an eye-brow.

Nemesis crossed her arms.

"But anyways, to answer why I'm dabbling in a regular mortal's life-," she paused, "-who ever said you're a regular mortal? You don't seem very '_regular_' to me."

She looked down at him as she continued, "You're truly talented, and most of all, lucky; and normally, I'd pull some trick to even it out on you. But you've already lived through Hades and over again. So I won't touch that."

She took a breath before tagging on, "But you don't know who your mother is."

He stiffened.

"What did you just say?"

"You heard me. You don't know who your mother is."

Nemesis had hit a bad subject.

_§~_

_He clutched at a thick, manilla file folder, many-colored sticky notes sticking out the side and giving it a happy look it didn't quite deserve. Its very content size suggested that the person in question was constantly monitored and observed. Every detail was carefully recorded and filed away without their knowing. It was somewhat morally incorrect, but it would help serve his purpose._

_ He took a deep breath as he swiftly flipped the top open._

_ Photos of every flavor and variety spilled out. ID photos, grainy black-and-white school photos, and then there were the other photos. Those that were snapped at the corner of streets and from behind old buildings. Discreet, clandestine photos that came from tails tagged onto the subject's every movement._

_ They were all of the same person. The same woman._

_ She was truly beautiful, with a stunning smile that could've lit the sun. She had fair brown hair that settled around her cheeks in lustrous waves._

_ Tears formed in his eyes._

_ She reminded him so much of himself when he looked in the mirror. He had her beautiful eyes, his rendition severely dimmed from endless trauma and depression. He had her bright smile that he never used often in earnest._

_ He had never personally met her. She had died long before his memory had truly started to solidify and set in._

_ But there was no doubt who she was._

_ "Mother."_

_ ~§_

He snapped.

"Don't you _dare_ mention my mother," he hissed. "Helen Beckett. Of _course_ I know who she was!"

"Do you really?"

"_What_, are you saying you know more about her than I do?"

Nemesis raised an eye-brow, "Of course I do. I go around correcting her unfair blessings."

A pause.

"... What?" he asked incredulously.

"It shall become clear in due time," Nemesis whispered.

That was it.

That was bloody enough.

"_This_-," he snarled, accent he had previously been hiding leaking through with his emotions, "-is plain _barmy_. First, crazy hell-holes. Then, supposed Greek goddesses who don't look very Greek at all, and cryptic messages thrown left and right! Either you're some crazy, senile terrorist who has a fetish for mythology or I've gone crazy! This has gotta be some kind of weird creation that my PTSD-infested mind has given to entertain me as I die at the paws of a-"

Suddenly, Nemesis lost all pretense of calm she had given before as she snapped out, "_Shut it_, you _insolent_ mortal! I might like you more than others, but you have pushed the limit."

He immediately silenced.

"Now," she hissed. "You deserved something of a saving grace for all of the things you suffered, but for your plain _idiocy_, I'll throw in the complications as a punishment for showing disrespect to an immortal."

He was bewildered.

"You see," she whispered coldly. "You haven't _quite_ died yet. I was going to save you and send you on your way to camp, but then you back-talked, punk. You made things _so_ much harder."

She snapped her fingers. A picture of the sleek lion he had seen before appeared in the black room.

"This-," she explained. "-is a Nemean lion. You remind me _very_ much of it. Not quite the smartest thing in the world, but next to invincible when it comes to physical prowess. Because, _you_ are a demigod. And you need help getting to Camp Half-Blood. But you _aren't_ getting in that easily now."

And then the world blinked-

-and he was back on the floor of the forest, claws digging into his shoulders, fangs bared behind his neck.

The Nemean Lion roared.

And froze.

It's golden pelt gleamed in the sunlight as a wisp of something red drifted from its gaping maw and sank harmlessly into his chest.

It crumbled into dust.

~x-X-x~

Crunchy, dead leaves under-paw.

Breath uneven from pain.

Blood trickling from injury in back.

Roaring inside.

Snarling outside.

Eyes flaring wildly.

Steps graceful with the knowledge of both a veteran to espionage and an ancient mythical monster.

Half spy, half demigod, half Nemean lion.

* * *

**_A/N: _****One of my greatest pet peeves is when I get something wrong. The only thing that tops it is when I get something wrong and I don't know ****_why_****.**

** I can't place it, but something's wrong with this. Something's just ****_wrong _****with my writing style. Can somebody point it out to me? My own opinion is already biased beyond recognition.**

**So yeah, review and all that stuff...**

** My blessings from Hell.**

** -Devil's Den**

**(Edit PS: If anybody finds me using "you're" in a possessive context or "your" in place of "you are", point it out. I assure you, I know the difference. My iPad's autocorrect is just going bonkers on me.)**

**(Second Edit PS, _VERY IMPORTANT TO READ IF YOU'RE GOING TO REVIEW_: Alright, can I just point out that literature doesn't exactly have to make sense? February 16, I just got my third review about the "half spy, half demigod, half Nemean lion" thing. Yes, I know my fractions. Yes, I know it puts him over one entity. Yes, I know I'm being very rude right now (just woke up from nap). I felt the half, half, half just rolled off better than third, third, third. If I get three more reviews on the subject- and I won't pay attention to any reviews that involve the matter unless they note that they've read this PS- then, fine. I'll change it. I just thought I'd point that out.)**

**(Please don't review anonymously if you can help it. I like being able to reply. But if it's just because you don't have an account, it's fine. Actually, I wouldn't be able to tell. That kind of renders this note useless, no?)**


	2. Chapter 1: White

_**A/N: **_**Two chapters today! Hoo-rah!**

**Anyways, still no explanations for the symbols, indicators, or anything like that. Readers are more independent than that.**

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

**_Luck of the Goddess_**

**Chapter One: White**

He was burning on the inside.

Blood was pouring out onto the fur of his back.

It stung.

The blood _stung_.

His own blood _stung _as it pumped through his system and made pain course throughout his body.

It was next to unbearable.

So he tried to ignore it.

He lifted a hand in front of himself as he limped on.

It was covered in golden fur, attached to razor-sharp claws, coated in his own blood.

He _hated _it.

He wanted everything gone.

The burning, the fur on his body, the tail on his abdomen, and the fluffy ears (soft as they were) on his head. He wanted them _gone_.

He wanted his humanity back.

_But, hey_, he thought to himself, somewhat deliriously. _At least I'm still bipedal._

~x-X-x~

"Are you sure, Percy?"

The young, black-haired teen smiled goofily back.

"Of course I am, Annabeth! We find some demigods from monster sightings, right? And I'm pretty sure these sightings were of a Nemean lion. What normal lion could bite through a half-a-foot-thick bar of pure steel?"

The blonde daughter of Athena was crossing her arms mockingly and trying to keep a straight face.

She smiled, "Maybe one on steroids?"

"Oh, sure." Percy rolled his eyes dramatically. "And I can walk through fire."

There was a moment of tense silence.

And then, the couple burst out laughing.

They had just previously watched Grover coat all of his teeth in olives, and were now suffering the consequences.

"Gods-_damn_-you, Grover and your hilarious eating habits! Now I can't take this seriously," Annabeth choked out, wiping tears from her eyes. Percy was clutching his stomach.

The satyr named Grover stared innocently back-

-before letting loose an all-mighty burp.

The laughter started all over again.

~x-X-x~

He collapsed at the knot of a wizened old tree.

His blood still burnt his skin.

His back still stung and bled.

He lifted his hand-paw again.

Again, he saw the golden fur.

Again, he saw the claws.

Again, he saw his own blood.

He shut his eyes and willed it to go away.

He just wanted it gone, like a bad dream.

He envisioned himself normal.

He envisioned himself before, in England.

He envisioned himself standing, face neutral, in front of his old house in Chelsea.

Not furry.

Not furry _at all_.

And when he opened his eyes, he saw the fur on his arms had shrunken until it was only at his elbows, and the burning-sensation had lessened. He still _felt _the fur on his arms; it was definitely still _there_. It just wasn't visible.

And he was exhausted.

But also elated.

For a small price of his own energy, he could reduce the burning and make himself _seem _normal.

He took a deep breath and tried it again.

~x-X-x~

The air around them was frigid and thin with altitude, but it was all still worth the view. Buildings, mountains, everything was beneath them.

Annabeth clutched Percy tighter.

"Don't suffocate me!" Percy protested as Black-Jack's wings beat slowly at either side. "Or else horse-head here will go crazy off track."

Annabeth grinned slightly. Good ol' Seaweed Brain.

She yelled out for all the sky to hear.

"To Maine, Percy!"

~x-X-x~

He was starting to regain his senses.

His thoughts weren't blurred anymore.

He could think again.

The burning of his blood had dulled to an ache.

The fur and the ears and the tail and the paws were hidden in some illusion.

But the roaring inside of him only got louder. It was pulling his concentration from his one grueling task: get out of the forest.

It was like wrestling with a monster for control.

And he was at a huge disadvantage.

The hiding of his furry features had left him dead on his feet.

And being who he was, he resented the fact.

~x-X-x~

The trees in front of them towered over the ground and blocked the horizon. The very density of the massive trunks blocked any view Percy could've possibly had of anything in the forest.

"Oh, great," he muttered. "How're we supposed to find a demigod in this mess?"

He glanced beside him to find Annabeth smiled encouragingly.

"We'll manage, Seaweed Brain. We always do," she said.

~x-X-x~

He was trudging on, broken sticks and crunchy leaves doing little to soothe the aching of his back-paws.

The illusion was still holding. He still looked like the boy he used to be to anybody that passed.

But the incessant roaring in his head was growing ever-the-more insistent.

~x-X-x~

"Where exactly are we, Wise Girl?" Percy whispered as he brushed off the low-hanging branches that blocked their path. "'Cuz you have the map."

Annabeth rolled her eyes from behind him.

"Really, Percy? Maine. A forest. It's called the Durham State Forest. Sound familiar?" she stated mock-haughtily.

Percy paused for a second.

He looked deep in thought.

And then he smiled his signature smile and promptly replied, "Nope."

Annabeth sighed.

~x-X-x~

He winced.

The burning was back and worse than ever. But it wasn't from his own blood. No. Someone else's.

Two "someone elses" were in the forest, and their blood burnt him just like his own.

It was driving him crazy.

The burning, along with the pain in his back, plus the exhaustion from his illusion trick didn't make for a good equation.

Suddenly, the forest froze.

Everything went silent as his senses zeroed in on a single sound that was playing the back-ground to the insistent roaring.

There were wing-beats from above the forest.

And then a screech.

Something golden shot out from the trees.

Something feathered.

Something female.

Something _hostile_.

He met it with rearing (_invisible_) claws and a vicious (_not-his-own_) snarl.

~x-X-x~

_And then a screech._

Annabeth froze.

"Hear that, Seaweed Brain? Harpy," she began as she broke out into an all-out sprint. "It means we have our demigod and that he or she _hasn't _been killed by the lion yet."

Percy huffed as he struggled to keep up with the pace.

~x-X-x~

He felt his hidden fangs sink into feathery flesh.

He felt his _there-but-not-really-there _claws rip away at downy skin.

He tasted the green blood of the winged-woman in his mouth.

It tasted absolutely _vile_.

But at least the roaring in his mind had stopped. That, and the pain from the scratches on his back could finally be ignored for the battle.

Adrenaline was pulling his exhaustion from him.

And the bird-woman was fair game. She had attacked him first.

~x-X-x~

"Percy! We're getting closer!"

"Coming, coming!"

~x-X-x~

The burning, stinging sensation pulsing through his body was starting to get worse with every passing second.

He was starting to slip up on his decimation of his bird-woman-target.

He noticed her flesh-pieces were just melding back together after each slash of his invisible claws.

But he couldn't pay his full attention to the matter. The burning was starting to crowd his mind.

But at least the roaring was still gone.

~x-X-x~

"There's an opening ahead. I think the harpy and the demigod are in a clearing approximately thirty feet by-"

"You don't have to give the exact measurements, Wise Girl! We've got newbie demigod butt to save!"

~x-X-x~

The burning was getting worse.

Way, way worse.

It felt as if daggers were prickling at his skin from every direction

Flashes of white were blinking into his sight and he was starting to get a migraine.

But most of all, it _stank_.

The two "someone elses" in the forest stank like no other.

He clutched at his head, abandoning the task at hand.

Bird-woman could wait for a second.

~x-X-x~

Annabeth and Percy burst into the clearing, weapons unsheathed and ready for battle, breaths ragged from running, and leaves scattered haywire in their clothing and hair.

Their extravagant entrance was unneeded.

The harpy was lying in a bloody mass on the forest floor, rapidly trying to regenerate.

She wasn't going to be a problem for a long while.

But the thing that caught their attention the most was the shivering, curled-up, _bloody _form of an injured, blonde boy clutching at his head next to it.

~x-X-x~

They were there.

They were _there_.

And their stench and their burning aura and their blood and their very presence...

It was slowly and painfully over-taking his fuzzy senses.

It was over-powering his exhausted control.

And the roaring in his head began anew.

Something- _something_- was telling him...

To kill them.

To-

_Kill them_.

_They only burn and hurt and plague your mind when their blood is alive._

_Kill_.

_Them_.

~x-X-x~

The boy snapped up and analyzed them with cold, narrowed brown eyes.

Annabeth noticed Percy adjusting his grip on Riptide.

She squeezed the handle of her dagger.

There was a low vibration that pulsed through the silence of the forest.

Growling.

The boy pounced.

**A/N: So anyways, review, critique, and if you so please, ****_do_**** add your flames to my own private inferno. It makes it that much cozier.**

**I'm probably not going to publish chapter two for a few days. A week at the most. Three days at the least. I still need life-saver chapters for when my creative juices are running dry.**

**My blessings from Hell.**

**-Devil's Den**


	3. Chapter 2: Fake Diplomacy

**_A/N: Ah. Okay, fine. I lied. Not a week at most. Jeez..._**

**But anyways, I actually redid this chapter last minute, since the original was a bit cliché and cheesy and rushed. I didn't bother to go back and reread chapter one before typing, so the atmosphere and situation might have shifted rapidly. If I get five plus reviews commenting on how badly it disrupts the flow, I'll try going back and rewriting.**

** And to answer anonymous guest's comment on the half, half, half to third, third, third, you're completely right, mathematically speaking.**

** But that's boring.**

** And boring's bad.**

** Half, half, half just rolled off my mind easier than third, third, third. **

** But just enjoy the show! Percy's gonna have the concentration for this whole chapter.**

** Warning: Lotsa swearing! And since I might as well mention it, I don't own either PJO or AR. As much as I want to, I don't.**

* * *

**_Luck of the Goddess_**

**Chapter Two: Fake Diplomacy**

The boy sprung into the air with a deadly grace, blood trailing behind like a personal jet-cloud of red. His eyes were flaring and his lips were pulled into a feral snarl as he sailed the distance between him and the demigods.

And Percy was thinking all like, _Shit. Monster. We totally fell for that one._

But, thing was, the monster didn't look very monster-like at the moment. Still a boy and all that. Still keeping his (its?) true form hidden. Still stubborn as Death.

Percy watched as Annabeth swiftly leapt into action, stroking her dagger in wide arcs to let the Celestial Bronze do its job. Suddenly, he realized that he should probably be doing something. Like maybe _helping_.

Oops.

Percy deftly drew Riptide into a shining, deadly swipe of glowing godliness as the monster-What kind of monster _was_ the boy, anyways?- danced away from one attack only to find himself in another.

Percy felt his blade make contact (Like, Hades yeah!), so he, unfortunately, also felt the vicious backlash of it bouncing off the monster-boy's skin.

And so that's how he found himself in a situation where his shoulder was dislocated and the monster was basically clubbed instead of diced. Appropriately, the beast-boy was unceremoniously sent flying into the trunk of a tree.

Percy almost- _almost_- flinched at the unholy cracking sound that echoed throughout the clearing as some bones presumably broke.

(Honestly, he mostly felt worse for the tree.)

What bothered him most was the fact that the monster was still _whole_. Celestial Bronze was like, the nuke to all countries when it came to Grecian monsters. Maybe not the most accurate comparison, but still. The unknown monster should've been dust in the wind by then.

Instead, it-he-whatever was crumpled in a shivering, bleeding pile at the base of a hunk-of-a-ginormous tree. The bleeding was only from some other injury already inflicted on its (His? What proper pronoun could Percy use for... er... him? It? Gods-damn-it!) exposed back. The hard slice delivered directly to the monster's stomach hadn't even opened up a wound.

Annabeth looked about as bewildered as he was.

Neither of them had time to calculate the equation (monster plus impervious to Celestial Bronze to the power of higher Mist control equals X. Solve for X), cuz' that was when the monster swung itself back up.

And here Percy was thinking that broken bones were supposed to _hurt_.

An all-mighty roar pulled him out of his thoughts as the monster pounced again.

Percy just barely managed to bring Riptide up in time to block the attack, despite his throbbing shoulder.

Ringing contact.

Time froze.

Percy watched as the surrounding air rippled once. Twice. Three times. Each wave of pulses pounded on his head like some kind of insistent migraine.

You know how when you step very slowly into the pool ('cuz it's just so freaking cold and you didn't have the good sense to swim on some other, warmer day), it kind of looks like the water-line's some kind of portal that turns your body into wavy line? Got that concept?

Well, take that, two demigod teens in orange T-shirts, dangerous weaponry, some freaky boy-monster-thing, and you've basically gotten what happened.

As the wavy-effect kind of swept over him, Percy watched the boy-monster-thing (he really didn't know what to call him- it- aw, screw it) sprout golden fur all over his body like puberty on fast-forward.

And maybe he had been a bit freaked out when he saw the _huge-ass _claws clasped firmly around his sword.

"_Gods_, no!" he cried and swung the monster off Riptide, sending it (Yes, it was now officially an "it." Percy was tired of debating with himself) flying once again. It landed lightly on the balls of its feet and crouched with a right damning look in its eyes.

The monster now had a lustrous coat of blood-soaked fur on its body (strangely, it still had torn jeans and T-shirt on). Its previously wind-swept fair hair had grown at a remarkable rate, cascading around its face and shoulders like a sunny mane.

That, topped with the ears poking curiously out on top its head, its slitted, dilated pupils, and the tail swinging around in little predatory circles behind it, made it look like some kind of cat.

But, as if in a trance, it seemed to calm down a bit.

"Course of action, Wise Girl?" he prompted sort of unhelpfully.

Annabeth gave him a weird kind of look, "Thinking, Percy. I'm thinking."

"Think faster, maybe?"

"Yeah... No. That's not how it works."

Percy bit his lip and sighed. The monster was still crouched and at the ready, assessing their every move with a piercing patience.

"I don't think we have much time," Percy gritted out. "Simba here looks like he's about to pounce. And, y'know, my shoulder's aching up a storm right now."

He swore he just saw the monster's lips quirk upwards a bit. But monsters didn't have senses of humor, no siree.

Annabeth furrowed her eyebrows just so, the way she did when she was thinking. Percy knew she was probably mentally beating the answer out of herself, being a child of Athena. There was a minute of pause (or it could've been a second, Percy couldn't be sure), and he was starting to wonder why the monster hadn't attacked again.

He was abruptly interrupted as Annabeth let loose an aggravated groan, "_What the heck is it?_ I've _never _heard of a monster like this!"

"You mean you have no idea what we're up against?" Percy questioned incredulously. This was _Annabeth_! Annabeth was _never _clueless.

"Oh, I have ideas," she muttered darkly. "But, y'know, they're all crossed out when I reach the fact that this _thing _happens to be _bipedal_.

As if to taunt them, the monster stood up on its two legs and swaggered around in a little circle for before smiling cheekily at them.

"Screw you!" Annabeth all but yelled, and Percy couldn't help but smile slightly.

The monster paused for a second. Then, as if second-guessing itself, it sort of prowled (Percy had to physically remind himself that it was supposed to, oh, you know, _have several bones savagely broken_) up to them. Percy pulled Riptide up in a protective cross.

The monster calmly studied them for a second.

"... You know I can understand you, right?"

Percy startled at the soft rhetorical question that streamed easily from the monster's mouth.

Annabeth cocked an eyebrow, "Why, of course. Why else would I have yelled at you?"

"Maybe to vent frustration?" it queried.

"Do I look like one to do that?"

"At first? Actually, yeah."

"Touché."

The monster smiled, "I might want to warn you, I still feel the compulsive urge to kill the both of you right now."

Annabeth nodded, "Understandable. Grecian monsters usually feel that around demigods. You a new one?"

The monster stopped to think for a second.

"Technically, yup."

Annabeth raised an eyebrow, "Technically?"

"Complicated."

"Ah."

"Wait a second," Percy interjected, waving his arms in the universal gesture for _slow down_. "What's going on right now?"

"Fake diplomacy," both the monster and Annabeth answered. The "_duh_" at the end was kind of implied.

The monster raised its hand, "I'm curious about what the heck's goin' on with me. I'm about _this-," _it put its fore-finger and thumb about half a centimeter apart, "-close to either collapsing and breaking down crying or trying to tear both your guts out. My control's running thin."

Annabeth nodded, "So we have an information trade. Two questions each."

"Did you two simultaneously come up with this?" Percy asked.

"Yup."

Percy sighed, "Okay. Okay, fine. Your tactics might as well be lost on me. I'll just stand and listen."

The monster "thumbs-upped" him.

"I'll start," Annabeth offered. "Monster species?"

It shrugged dismissively, "I'm not quite sure what you could classify me as, but let's say Nemean Lion. My turn. What's a demigod?"

Annabeth raised an eyebrow dubiously, "A child born of both mortal and immortal blood. I'm one, Percy's one. So I'm guessing you were the Nemean Lion who bit through the steel cage at the zoo and started running amok in the city." The monster threw her an incredulous glance, but played along. "Why'd you try to kill the harpy? You're both technically monsters."

"It attacked me. Why?"

"I haven't the slightest. Maybe it was in a bad mood."

Percy snorted, causing both the monster and Annabeth to snap their gazes to him.

"Monsters're _always _in bad moods," he muttered sheepishly. "And can I ask a question?"

The monster smiled an amused smile, "I dunno, can you?"

Percy rolled his eyes, "_May _I ask a question?"

"Go ahead."

"Should I call you an 'it' or a 'him?'" he blurted out.

There was a period of silence before the monster chuckled slightly.

"I'd like to think myself a 'him,' thank you very much," it- er, he- replied softly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go bash my head into a tree to keep myself from killing you. As much as I want to, my annoying conscience is stopping me."

"Wait, _wha-?" _Percy started.

It- _he _padded silently up to a giant oak and, before anyone could stop him, brutally face-trunked.

He crumpled to the ground immediately.

Percy exchanged glances with Annabeth before gently peering down at the curled-up form of the monster.

The golden fur was starting to slowly disappear, being concealed patch-by-patch by the Mist. All that remained was the ears, the tail, a regular head of scruffy blonde hair, and the claws.

"So..." Percy started. "That was probably the most interesting monster encounter I've had in my life."

Annabeth nodded solemnly, "Agreed. But, hey, if the monster wanted to go easy on us, I'm not complaining. You know the drill for Nemean Lions, Seaweed Brain. The mouth."

Percy blinked and once again readied Riptide. He gently pried open the monster's jaw, revealing straight lines of completely regular teeth, except for two wickedly sharp canines.

Breathing, Percy lifted his blade and prepared to finish off the strange monster.

Riptide slowly started to plunge down.

~x-X-x~

_"No!"_

~x-X-x~

A flash of light.

Percy froze, blade hovering inches away from its target.

A glowing circle of gold light hung above the monster's head. A symbol of a round ball hung proudly in place like a hologram.

A claiming sign.

Percy's mind took a second to compute the situation. He slowly and deliberately shrunk Riptide before stuffing it back into his sweat-drenched jeans, eyes still on the sign.

He glanced expectantly at Annabeth. She too was also gaping at the golden light. He strolled calmly to her side and put a hand comfortingly on her shoulder.

Annabeth snapped out of it as soon as she felt his touch. Percy watched as she slowly turned to look at him.

As one, the two of them turned to stare at the monster-demigod-whatever lying unconscious on the forest floor.

She sighed.

"Chiron's gonna _totally love _this one."

* * *

**_A/N:_**** So that concludes chapter two! Remember, if you feel like it kind of jumped, make sure to comment on it. If I get five reviews telling me the atmosphere shifted too rapidly, I might (might) rewrite this chappy.**

**But either way, My Blessings From Hell,**

** Devil's Den**


	4. Chapter 3: Complications

**_A/N: _****I really have next to nothing to say except, "I am _so_ not in the mood for this right now." Yeah. But, y'know, I'm gonna try. A whole four-day weekend to work on this. Better make the best of it.**

* * *

**_Luck of the Goddess_**

**Chapter Three: Complications**

_He felt the wind rushing up against his hair, whipping it wildly against the sky like a second, golden sun. Above was blue and gold and white and beauty. Above was new and innocent and bright. Above was safety._

_ He heard the whistling bouncing off the walls of the chasm, swallowing the tips of his bare toes. The whistling was an end. The whistling was a much-needed reprise from the hell that was behind._

_ He smelt the bitter, coppery smell of... something lingering at his back. Slime, burning-hot-and-freezing-cold-at-exactly-the-same-time slime, brushed gently against his shoulder-blades, caressing his reluctant form. Behind was cold and hot and blood and murder._

_ He tasted the dryness on his tongue. A dryness derived solely from regret and pain. A dryness that derived from the starvation of that wonderful substance- water- that symbolized calm and home and sometimes torture._

_ And finally, he saw. He saw the gaping blackness in front. His feet were already half-way over the edge. The beautiful dark in front of him could be anything. Insanity. Happiness. Death. Or a break._

_Looking up, he stared longingly at the pure sky above. It was coy, calling desperately for him. It rightfully belonged to him. Earned peace._

_ But it was mockingly out of reach. Like a porcelain doll locked securely behind steel doors, with double-padlocked handles and DNA sensors._

_ It suddenly seemed cold just like porcelain. It was fake, he knew it. But how could such a beautiful thing be fake?_

_ Reaching an arm out, reaching an arm out to grab the sky and caress it in his calloused fingers, he felt his hand pass over the barrier over the chasm._

_ Blood gushed out his lips._

~x-X-x~

Pain erupted from his abdomen as something, something painfully bright, slammed into his stomach and sent him flying. He felt his back slam into a rough surface- probably a tree- that was unforgiving and unyielding. He crumpled, boneless, onto the forest floor and knew that something was broken. Maybe more than just ribs.

He tasted blood, probably from biting his tongue. And the burning. The _burning_. The burning and the pain and _blood-lust _were back full force, slapping him directly in the face.

He stumbled back up again, years of training and cold experience advising him to hide his pain. The pain in his veins and in his back.

Then, a roar.

"_No! You aren't supposed to be here!_"

He caught a blurred vision of two figures- both in orange- clutching tightly to beacons of glowing light. Glowing, celestial light.

He felt something pounce on and engulf his thoughts.

"_Go back!_"

~x-X-x~

_ He wrenched his hand back from over the darkness, so rapidly that his elbow brushed momentarily against the hot-and-cold slime of behind. Momentarily, the barrier over the edge of the chasm flashed solid, like a mirror._

_ He saw his own gaunt, beaten form staring hauntedly back. Blood spilled over his lip. New pain flooded in from his chest, and he knew that the broken ribs had carried over._

_ He flexed his hand to make sure it hadn't sustained too much damage from its trip over the edge. Holding it gingerly in front of him, trying overly-hard not to push it past the barrier, he recoiled slightly._

_All the way from his finger-tips to his mid-wrist, he found his tan skin abounding* in golden fur. Every inch that had found its way across the edge was now covered in lustrous, sunny hairs._

_ Horrified, he threw a look behind him. The sight made him flinch away even more. As soon as his gaze brushed over the direction, the slime flashed forward and engulfed the entirety of his back. He quickly pried his eyes from the oblivion behind him that seemed to advance when he looked at it, and chose to seek comfort from the gold-blue-white porcelain sky above._

_ He should've known better. _

_ As soon as his chocolate irises focused on the beautiful serenity that blanketed the chaotic nightmare he was trapped in, it flared violently red. The crimson blossomed across the blue in a dome-like manner and suddenly the sky seemed to plummet a notch._

_Another notch._

_ And before he had the good sense to look away, the bloody sky seemed inches away from resting on his hunched shoulders. Suddenly, the porcelain red became an exact replica of the slime pressing over his back, frozen over his defeated form. There was nowhere left to run._

_Death and blood was at every turn. No, not death. His past. There was a sort of grotesque familiarity in the hellish substance burning and freezing his uncovered skin. It pulled his mind back towards memories he would rather keep buried, thank you very much._

_ And then the slime and lava-ice pressing at every side shoved him forwards. He stumbled forward, left foot teetering dangerously close over the edge. His chest slammed into the barrier and began sinking slowly through, like he was swimming in jello._

_ It stung._

_ It felt like hell was pulsing through his veins._

_ For once, his mind wasn't racing to find a way out. For once, he wasn't thoroughly calculating some way to get out of the situation. For once, he was just hopelessly wanting._

_He wanted it to _stop.

_He wanted- it- all- to- stop._

_He wanted-_

~x-X-x~

He saw himself, snarling and growling.

It wasn't him, though.

The feral, reckless look in his eyes was so foreign to his mind that there was almost no doubt that the him that he was watching wasn't him at all. Something else was using his dancer's (_assassin's_) grace and his vast (_deadly_) experience against his will.

~x-X-x~

_-it-_

~x-X-x~

He watched himself pounce.

~x-X-x~

_-all-_

~x-X-x~

He watched himself fly through the air, towards a black-haired green-eyed boy who had a sword of celestial light half-way up in a block.

~x-X-x~

_-to-_

~x-X-x~

He watched himself snarl.

~x-X-x~

_-STOP!_

_ The darkness pulled him tumbling into the chasm. As he plummeted down, he felt something drain from his soul and return to the edge, flinging itself at the bloody-murder-slime._

~x-X-x~

Reality rippled and solidified. His eyes flashed open as he found himself plunging dangerously close to the bright celestial light of the black-haired teen's blade. Instinct took over as he caught himself and latched the cold metal between his claws.

Before he knew it, he was flipping through the air and, with a practiced ease, landing lightly on the balls of his feet. Fur blossomed from all over his body, just like the blood in his gold-blue-white porcelain sky. Before he could stop himself, he was glaring at the two orange-clad teens in front of him.

Words were exchanged between the two; some witty, sardonic comments, others calculated responses.

And even though he felt oh-so-very empty inside, he forced himself to smile at a certain comment about "Simba."

Although he still felt the lust for blood, he didn't want to kill the two. It was blood and death that had created his hell-sky-slime in his chasm in the first place. And, maybe- just maybe- he could make a deal. He just wanted to know, wanted to know what was going on with his veins and his self-control.

And so he carefully crafted something to pull together a personality. A teenager. What made a teenager? Impertinence. Scathing comments. Sarcasm. Right? He wasn't quite sure anymore. He felt too empty to be sure of what he was usually like.

He placed his mask on over the disturbingly hollow pit that encompassed his facial expression and began to listen in on the conversation between the black-haired teen and his companion, a blonde, stormy-eyed girl.

"_-happens to be _bipedal!"

He thought quickly before pacing in a small circle, swinging his hips just so and placing each well-planned step with an arrogant ease. He made himself radiate swagger.

"_Screw you!_"

He gently padded up to the two (hiding a wince every time his paws hit the ground) and commented snarkily, "_You know I can understand you, right?_"

And then the rest came pouring past his lips. Acting covered his every word, and each answer came easily to his tongue, even if he didn't know them in his own heart.

"_Fake diplomacy._"

And before he knew it, he was carefully reminding himself that he didn't want to kill the two teens, no matter their "demigod" blood.

_Impertinence._

He exchanged a couple of sarcastic words with the black-haired teen-

"_-I dunno, can you?-"_

-answered a couple of questions-

"_-I'd like to think myself a 'him'-_"

-and then dropped the bomb.

"-_Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go bash my head into a tree to keep myself from killing you. As much as I want to, my annoying conscience is stopping me-"_

There. That was nice and random enough to be _regular-teen-like_, right?

And then, with excessive self-control, he strolled up to the nearest tree. Without a second thought, he propelled his forehead forward.

Blackness.

~x-X-x~

The next time he allowed himself to "wake up", there was a pillow behind his neck, a warm tingling sensation on his chest, and a _bloody huge _snake hissing somewhere off in the distance.

Of course, he had been wide awake for several minutes by then. It was regular procedure for him to feign sleep and gather his surroundings first while in foreign territory.

For example, he already knew there were four kids gathered around him and pressing that warm tingling sensation into his skin, that there were several other kids dressed up in bronze defending his position, and _oh-my-fucking-God-that's-a-ten-headed-snake-spitting-acid-at-a-bunch-teenagers._

Yup.

He slowly fluttered his eyes open, drawing a blank look into his own chocolate irises. The four kids standing at either side of him jumped slightly as he slowly pulled himself up, half-wincing as the partially-healed ribs wrapped around his heart and lungs creaked dangerously.

He noticed that each kid's hand was glowing softly blue. At least, until they hurriedly extinguished the light.

But, you know, he didn't feel empty anymore. Almost like he had a personality back. And, well, at least the roaring in his head had stopped. Hopefully for good, this time.

"I'm sorry," he whispered soothingly to the nearest kid, a young-looking brunette with a certain innocence in his blue eyes that he absolutely loathed. But still, he made his voice soft and level, unconsciously smooth and comforting. "But what's happening here?"

He watched as the brunette looked for permission from his three little friends and began to reply shakily, "The barrier over camp won't let you through, sir. We're right outside the edge. Ms. Chase just told us to get some stuff from the medical wing, not use nectar and ambrosia- which is absolutely ridiculous-," the boy got a warning look from one of his peers, "-er, and just to keep you alive. She's fighting a hydra with Mr. Jackson and a couple o' kids from the Ares cabin."

A hydra, huh? He shook his head slowly. Really not that surprising at this point. Harpies and hydras and Nemean lions...

"Tell me," he demanded, tilting his head curiously, "What does your 'barrier' protect you from?"

"Monsters, sir. Grecian monsters."

He cocked an eyebrow, half in bemusement at the 'sir' and half in interest.

"And what does your 'nectar and ambrosia' do?"

"Heal stuff, sir."

"Very eloquent choice of words," he stated wryly, enjoying the blush spreading over the brunette boy's cheeks. "Any side-effects?"

"Only if you aren't one of the gods or any of their demigod spawn. In which case, ambrosia and nectar burns the eater up in holy flames. But Ms. Chase assured me that you're a demigod. Apparently you got claimed out in Maine."

He smiled brightly at the brunette boy for a second before momentarily flashing his fangs. And his slitted eyes. And his claws.

The boy squeaked, and while the four kids at the temporary hospital bed were distracted, he sprang up and began a full sprint to the battle.

"What the f-"

"-too injured-"

"-back here, right now!"

He chuckled darkly. Since when had that ever stopped him? Screw broken ribs. Screw injuries on the back. Screw complications.

He was a bloody brilliant combat specialist with tons of life-threatening injuries covering every inch of his body. What could possibly go wrong?

He skidded to a halt as he drew level with the black-haired boy and blonde-haired girl that had gotten him in the forest. They both threw him nearly-identical incredulous looks.

He smiled smugly**, "So how's 'bout them ten-headed-snake-hydras?"

* * *

**_A/N_****_: _****It was next to painful writing this. That's not a good thing, is it?**

**Oh well. It is now *glances up at time* 6:40 am. I need some more sleep, really. Pandora isn't doing me any favors with its music choices. And, again, I apologize for updating when I wasn't feeling like it. I must've been crazy to have thrown my soul into something I didn't want to do. It made for crap-quality content.**

**Bat-Shit Crazy from Hell,**

**DD**

*You're welcome, Mrs. Bravo, beloved LA teacher. I sacrificed some flow-ability to use that one vocab word. Not that you'd ever find this. (I really hope you don't. The swearing isn't going to do my reputation any favors.)

**I have a deep-running hatred of the word smirk. I've avoided it mostly in this story, save the first chapter with Nemesis. Even then, I noted how negative of a word it was. Not only that, but it's bloody over-used to try to mould someone into a BAMF. Honestly, now it makes that particular "someone" look like a BAMF-wannabe to me.


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